


Salvation

by Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels)



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003), Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: April Showers Challenge 2011
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-03-16
Updated: 2003-03-16
Packaged: 2017-10-18 01:31:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/183504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannamichaels/pseuds/Lanna%20Michaels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Linkin Park-inspired ficlet.</p><p><i>I will never know myself until I do this on my own<br/>And I will never feel anything else until my wounds are healed<br/>I will never be anything till I break away from me<br/>I will break away and find myself today</i><br/>-Linkin Park, Somewhere I Belong<br/></p>
    </blockquote>





	Salvation

**Author's Note:**

> Linkin Park-inspired ficlet.
> 
>  _I will never know myself until I do this on my own  
>  And I will never feel anything else until my wounds are healed  
> I will never be anything till I break away from me  
> I will break away and find myself today_  
> -Linkin Park, Somewhere I Belong  
> 

   
   
When it was the darkest, you could see the stars. But, when the sun was up, you had no need for them. The sun was a guide far better than the twinkling lights. Even the Mariner was no match for the great luminary. Minas Anor - tower of the sun.

But the sun has gone down, Anor has set, and all that was left was Tirith. All that was left was watchfullness, and the sorrow that came with the night.

Boromir shivered slightly in the dark breeze, ever careful of his surroundings. Orcs attacked at night. They distrusted the daylight, paying homage to the mournful stars. Osgiliath haunted his thoughts always. The burning city, the jump into the weeping Anduin. Men dying on all sides of him, but miraculously none of the arrows hitting him. Only four had survived the slaughter and the day's journey back home had taken a week. Boromir still shook at the thought of all the comrades left to the mercies of the Orcs. There had been no time for burial or even a funeral pyre. Some of Gondor's finest had been abandoned in that hasty retreat and their cries followed Boromir wherever he went. He ached for a new fight, a pure fight where he could redeem himself, but none came. The woods were silent.

Faramir should have taken this quest, Boromir finally understood. Faramir carried no guilt for the massacre at Osgiliath. Faramir had not been in command. Faramir had no doubts that he should have stayed, to fight until death took him. Faramir had not been dishonored in the watchful fires that night.

The same stars overhead, the same burning inside him, and Boromir shivered again. The Lady had spoken of fires in Minas Tirith, burning his City to the ground. Fires in the Silent Street, consuming the bones of his ancestors. Fires in the souls of the Uruks coming to kill his people. And Boromir was powerless to stop them. Fire tainting the White City, smoke covering the beautiful Tower. Flames, fumes, killing her people. Burning their spirit, being conquered. And Boromir was powerless to stop it.

 _"Even now there is hope left,"_ the witch had said. But what hope? The elves had some great faith in Aragorn and while Boromir certainly respected the man, he could not see how one man could save Gondor. The elves believed that if Aragorn walked into Minas Tirith and claimed his throne, then all would be well again. Didn't they see that it took more than that? An army, faith, and fire-quenching water...and still the Orcs would come. And the Nazgul riding free, swooping down, killing. Spreading the fires until the blood-soaked stars.

And the sun would never rise again.

Black and silver painted red, with the White Hand and golden ring. Gondor would never rise again. The kingdom would be lost, and Boromir was not there to fight it. He could not run to the aid of his people. Minas Tirith would fall, and her prince was not there to stop it.

Tears prickled at his eyelids. Minas Tirith would fall, and all would come to ruin. The scourched streets, once white and carefree, now under the rule of the Dark One. Mordor stretching its borders into his City. And he wasn't there to stop it.

He had to leave. Now. He couldn't wait until the parting that would come at the border to Gondor. If Aragorn would not come, so be it. Absent Heir, why should they look to him for hope now? No, it must be left to Gondor's sworn protectors to help her. There was no other way.

Boromir could see clearly now. Galadriel had told him of this as a warning. This was what would happen if he did not leave the Fellowship now and make way for Gondor. Rohan first to borrow a horse. Theoden would surely not begrudge the prince of Mundburg a fast steed. And Theodred could show him the fastest way to the border. Yes, he would do that.

Smiling a little at the mass of huddled hobbits, Boromir began to gather his things. If he left now, only the elves would notice. And as they had no desire for him to stay in their Paradise, they would not hinder his passage. He would make for the waters of the Anduin and follow it past the Argonath. After that, it was only a short journey until the Gap.

"Boromir, what are you doing?"

Boromir cursed silently at the tall figure standing before him. He paused in his packing and stared defiantly upward. "Leaving this place."

Aragorn fell into a crouch before him. "Why would you do that?" He sounded genuinely curious, but also rather alarmed.

"My place is in Gondor, helping my people. I have no business being here." He spoke brusquely as if that would rid him of Aragorn's presence. The man frustrated him in ways he could not describe, and some of them had nothing to do with the man's claim on his City.

"And what of the Quest?"

Boromir laughed. "As if it is not better off without me. No, Aragorn, my people are in danger, and I *must* go to their aid."

"Why?"

That threw Boromir off. "What?"

"Why must you go now? Why not travel to the Argonath with us?"

"It only delays the inevitable, Aragorn. You will not come with me, and so I must go alone. And is it not better to leave sooner rather than later?"

"I'd miss you."

"Then come with me. But don't hinder me, Aragorn, I beg you. I must leave now."

Aragorn frowned. "What did the Lady tell you?"

Boromir froze, then spoke carefully. "It is nothing that concerns you."

"Indeed? If my comrade feels that it it enough for him to leave while he is still needed, then it is my concern."

"She showed me Gondor."

Understanding dawned on Aragorn. "She showed you a future failure, like your past one that still weighs on your mind."

"Well, if we had had a king, perhaps this wouldn't have happened!" Boromir's face softened. "I'm sorry, Aragorn, I don't know what's come over me. That was uncalled for. Even you could not have stopped the..." Boromir's voice caught in his throat. "The burning." Shivering again under the stars' unwavering gaze, he whispered, "Osgiliath burns. And the Tower soon after. None shall survive. None shall escape. Osgiliath burns."

Aragorn's arms embraced him, keeping him still, keeping him upright, and Boromir clung to them desperatly. Osgiliath burned. He could see it in his mind's eye. The Summer City, palace of the kings, charred and burned black in the sun's pale light. But there would be no sun, not once the Tower fell. Only the reign of Darkness, and the stars' cold gaze. Even the Mariner could not save them now. Minas Tirith would fall, the Citadel now a garrison for Orcs, and the Seven Gates thrown down.

"And my City as well," Boromir cried. "My City burns as well. From Anduin to the Sea, Gondor shall burn. And I am not there to save it. I must go to them, Aragorn. Even-even if I cannot save them, I must still be there."

"Oh, Boromir," Aragorn tightened his hold, internally cursing the Lady that had plagued his friend with so many doubts that his only choice was flight. Aragorn knew that Boromir could conquer his lust for the Ring. He did not need to be forced from the Fellowship. He did not need to be forced away from Aragorn's arms. Aragorn felt his anger grow. Galadriel had no need to protect Aragorn's honor. He was quite capable of doing it himself. Arwen had no rival in Boromir. Much as Aragorn wished he could take the Gondorian to bed, he knew he could not. Legolas watched him closely on the trail and now Galadriel sending away his beloved steward, sending him to his death. Aragorn screamed internally. Elves always saw him as a child that needed protecting. How he wished he could go to Gondor with Boromir. But he had resonsibilities to the Fellowship and Gandalf had not returned from the Pit to help them. And so Aragorn must go to Mordor, while Boromir would set out for Gondor. And the ring could not go to Gondor. Aragorn did not trust Denethor not to grab it while it was under his roof. "Gondor shall not fall. I give you my word."

"Your word? What good is your word against an army of Orcs?"

"Not much," Aragorn confessed. "I would give you my sword if I could, but..."

"But you can't. Aragorn, after all, does not belong to Gondor. Aragorn belongs to Middle-Earth."

Aragorn winced at the bitterness in Boromir's voice. "I love Gondor. I love the White City-"

"Then why won't you protect them? Why do you deny your inheritance?"

"I don't deny-"

"Delay, then, *Thorongil*. You could have taken the throne forty years ago. Yet you did not."

"I was not yet ready."

"When are we ever? Who is ever ready to lead a country? Yet my father was even younger than you when the Stewardship passed to him."

"Boromir..."

"Speak your piece, Aragorn, then leave me to mine. Gondor calls for me and I must answer her."

"Boromir, what difference does a week make?"

"If we had had a week, perhaps Osgiliath would not now lie halfway in ruins, with her bridge torn down!"

"Men are born to die."

"Yes, but not like that! And if men are merely born to die, then you would not be adverse to my pulling out a dagger and stabbing myself right now?"

"Boromir, why do you say such things?"

"I say such things because they are true. If men are merely born to die, then we might as well surrender and let the elves finish the job. But, no. The elves said overseas, deserting the growing darkness. Elves cannot save us, Aragorn. But you do not see that. Of course you do not. You are more elf than man."

"That may be so, Boromir, but-"

"But you count yourself a man. Yet, you love an elf. You call Imladris 'home'. Where is your love of men?"

Aragorn cursed Galadriel in every tongue known to Rangers. "It is true that my first love is for elves, but that is a childish love, like the son for a parent. Gondor I love like a lover, like the lover of my youth now blossomed in age but still as beautiful. It is not that I grew to love the elves less when I came of age, but that I learned to love men more."

"Yet your queen in an elf. The line of kings will be polluted." Boromir shrugged and stood, effectivly dismissing Aragorn. "Very well, that is your choice. But what is a king without a kingdom?" Boromir shivered and pulled his cape tight around him. "And Gondor shall come to ruin, be nothing more than a memory. I must go. I am needed."

Aragorn's lips on Boromir's stopped him as he turned to leave. Questing hands pulling the Gondorian close into a crushing embrace. "If you must go, then leave at least with a positive memory of what you leave behind." Tears from both of them, leaving marks on their dirt-stained faces, the chirping of a bird warning Aragorn that elves were near. "Come with me, Boromir, and let me give you hope."

"There is no hope," Boromir whispered, but clung to Aragorn all the more.

"My elvish name is 'Estel', which means hope. I would give you myself."

"Save yourself for Gondor. I ask only for strength to do what I must."

Aragorn was silent for a long moment. "That I cannot give you."

"Then let me be," and with that Boromir shook off Aragorn's arms and walked off into the star-studded night, to seek the dawn.


End file.
